The Rose
by illustica
Summary: France succumbed into sickness and everyone he loves came to be by his side...except for one. Britain still refuses to accept that the man he fought with for hundreds of years is slowly dying... He won't simply let him vanish.


**A/N: Bear my grammar. Was writing this as 3 in the morning...too lazy to proofread. **

Enter, Francis Bonnefoy

The smell of the fresh brewing coffee made France smile. He poured some coffee to his mug, took a sip and he remembered the scone he received from England the other day. He thought they tasted horrible, bland, tasteless, a recipe gone wrong. But he ate it despite the taste and even tasted the slightest sweetness… a taste visible only when a food was made with love. The thought of England suddenly saddened him. Out of all the countries he'd fought with, England was the most memorable. The Hundred Year's War, the Seven Year's War…you name it. They were there in the battlefield, opposed each other, ready to annihilate. He'd always hated the fact that England would always choose the side opposed him. What was he doing wrong? Though, he has to admit, when England was on the same side with him during World War II, it made him happy, especially when he tried to save him from Germany when he was captured.

"Monseiur, the World Meeting is about to start," his servant reminded him.

"Get the tables ready. I'll be there in a minutes," France replied.

Yes, of course, it's his turn to host the World Meeting. His frail body set the coffee aside, took his medicine and waited for a minute. He knows that he's growing weak as time passes by and soon not even the medicine could ease the pain he's feeling. And it won't be soon then, until the unimaginable happens. It's all good, I can still make things right…  
And the reason he proposed the next meeting to his house, is to announce his condition. That sooner or later, he will grow weaker to the point where he can no longer continue on and he wants that special person to take care of his house, his garden, everything he owns. He wants England to look after what he will leave behind.

-  
England sat irritably on his chair between the chit chatter America and that creepy Russia, wondering why the meeting has to be held in the Froggy's house. His house is way better, his food is astonishingly tasty and most of all, his servants are hospitable.

"I wonder why Frankenstein wanted to talk to us…" America mentioned.

"He probably just wants to show off his 'historical museum of goodness' and what have you. I can smell trouble all the way home," England said.

"I hope he makes this quick, da~" Russia smiled wickedly.

England shivered. He was about to say one more thing when France entered the room, looking so…fragile and weak. That image of him alarmed England, for frailness means bad news to the countries. But it's France, how badly could his condition be?

"Bonjour, everyone," Francis smiled, "I'm really glad you could make it."

His gaze is upon England, who looks irritated still but now mixed with worry.

"You must be wondering why I gathered all of us here, in my beloved home. Well, you see…" France tried not to sound pathetic, "Remember all the war, the bloodshed we went through?"

England snapped. So this was it. France is just going to talk about the past, rejoice about today's victories and peace, and then talk about tomorrow's endeavor.

"So you gathered all of us to reminiscent those ugly, bloody wars?" England croaked.

"What, n-no—" France tried to clarify, but was cut off by England.

"Who wants to remember those anyway? NOT ME. This is a waste of time. I'm outta here," England stood up.

"Wait, Angle—"

"Adeiu!" England slammed the door shut.

Everybody gone silent. England makes a point.

"Make this quick, please." Germany said, "I have better things to do."

France forced a smile. The most important person just walked out of his door.

"It is not…" his heart started to skip beats after beat, "important. You can all go hom—"

With that said, he fell on the ground, his breathing shallow, fingers twitching. No…he told himself. I can't vanish yet! It's too soon! The other countries circled him, not knowing what to do. Is this what France was going to announce? That he's DYING?

-

A knock on the door made England flinch. Who would come to his house at this late of hour?  
He went up to the door to answer it and saw France standing in front of him, smiling a serene smile… a smile he never knew the man possessed.

"Wake the fuck up!" England recognizes the voice as America, on the phone, "Open your damn door NOW! You need to know this!"

England lazily got up. America better be telling him something important, otherwise he'll beat the crap out of him from disrupting his sleep…his dream…

"What is it?" he glared at America.

"You walked out without even hearing France out! Geez, I know you hate him but the man rarely gives out invitations to his house. Did it ever occur to you that maybe there's an important reason behind him inviting us?" America started to nag.

"You know, America, if you're just going to nag, go back home. I don't have time for bullshit like this."

"France is dying." America finally said, "At least now you know. He said it's ok if you don't visit him. He just wants to let you know that when he's gone, he wants you to care of all the belongings he has."

Like a quick jab, England felt his breathing sharpen.

"Get out," he ordered, "What makes you think I'll have the care? Tell him to hurry up and die!" he slammed the door shut before America could say anything more.

"He loves you," America said, loud enough for England to hear, "I mean, I love you too but…his love…I know it's incomparable to mine, knowing how much history you two share. I know you love him too, more than anything in this world. Please, soften down…set your pride aside and be there when he's gone. He wants you to be there."

"Why would I watch him die?!" England kicked the door, "Don't you think it's selfish for him to let his love one watch as he slowly vanishes? Don't you think that's unfair? Did he even think about how I would feel?! To ask for a request like that…it's unfair…"

"He wants you to be there, even if he's not saying it. He didn't ask you to come. But if we're talking about fairness, you're the unfair one for not giving France a chance."

Tears now flooded England's eyes. Why are they flowing? Shouldn't he be happy? Happy that…finally, one of his rivals are going to be out of his way? But why does he feel as though half his heart, half his life, half of who he is is suddenly being ripped from him?

"Leave," he whispered against the door, "Please America, leave."

-

Francis held the picture of him and England, taken after the defeat of Germany. They held such glorious smiles, their eyes shining with triumph. How time passed by. How the cruelty of humanity could suddenly change everything. Him dying is probably karma for all the bad things he's done… To Germany, Spain, Canada, America, Italy…mostly to England.

"Big brother?" Italy called out his name, "would you like me to sing to you?"

"That'd be nice Italy," France said.

Italy started to sing an angelic song. France really adores Italy's voice. No, he adores everything about him. He's talented, kind and everybody likes him. If only he'll man up a bit, he'll be close to perfect. And he admits, he envies Italy not only because he's a gifted child, but also because he has Germany by his side, always there to defend him.

"You're such a cheater!" Italy stopped singing and hugged France, "You're too young! Please don't leave!"

"Oh, Italy," France shook his head, tears coming out of his eyes, "If only I could stay forever. But there's a time when everything has to end. I promise you, I'll be watching just as Grandpa Rome has been watching us."

Italy cried, "I don't want you to leave! You're the only person who truly knows me by heart! There might times where you creep me out but I know…it's because you love me! Please…can't I be selfish and wish you to stay? For once?"

"Italy…" France hugged him tightly, crying.

-

The next day, Canada was the one in France's side. He was sleeping soundly, a cute, innocent cherub…and angel in disguise. France remembered the tiny child he took good care of. He's like a son to him, a precious child he can't believe is now sleeping beside him. Now, if only America and Eng—

"Oh, papa, you're awake," Canada rubbed his eyes, "What would you like to eat?"

Papa. France giggled when he heard those words come out of Canada's mouth.

"Um…what's so funny?" Canada asked.

"It's just that it's been a while since you last called me that. It feels great," France answered.

"Well, um, you're still my father. You were the one who was there for me when I needed someone to help me. And…and you always remember me. You recognize my existence. You know my name."  
And with this, Canada started to cry, "I mean, America doesn't even know my name. Germany, especially Russia are all creeps. That twat England even forgets about me from time to time."

"Shh," France shushed, "C'est le bien, mon cher. "

"Papa, would you grant me a wish a stay with me—us?"

"I'll try…but no promises…"

-

That afternoon, America came to visit. Unlike Italy and Canada, America is less entertained about France's condition. France is still glad he came to visit, even though at times they don't get along well. That man, he said, needs to listen to others once in a while.

"So, feeling any better?" America asked with his casual tone.

"I'm hanging on," France answered, "Thanks for coming.

"I'm sorry," America walked towards the window, looking ahead, "I tried to talk to him. I tried my best. I guess his pride is clouding his mind."

"It's ok. You've tried. And you know what?"

America looked at him.

"I'm proud of you."

"What?" was the only word America could come up of.

"I raised you with Canada. England and I raised the both of you. You were always the hyper one. The crazy one. The reckless one. The brave one. The hero. England thought you were helpless and would fall one day. I told him to cut you some slack and just leave you alone. Well, guess what? He never did leave you. He was there, watching from a distant, adoring you, proud of you. I mean, it's not like everyday someone dear to you suddenly has the guts to be on his own and actually succeeding. I have to admit, you're the real deal. You don't listen to others. You refuse to include their opinions. It's always been you and your opinions. You and yourself. It means a lot for me, for you to care."

America returned his gaze outside the glass window, tears flowing.

"I just wish I could be a hero this time and save you."

-

It's been a week since all the nations found out about France's condition. Some were afraid that they will be next; some were actually relieved that he was hit instead of them, some were frustrated…and some are still fighting against themselves.  
It was midnight when he came. England knew everybody at France's house would be sleeping, so he came at that time. When he saw how France looks, it quickly brought tears to his eyes. How can someone so strong, so persistent, so annoying look so fragile, and weak, vulnerable…dying?  
It's not adding up. Why, out of all people, why is this happening to France?  
England watched as France takes short breathes, his cheekbones visible, dark circles around his eyes and his lips…those once so full and red lips…are nothing but pale and withered, like a rose.

"I knew you'd come…" France opened his eyes, looking directly at England.

"You Frog…" England said, "What happened?"

"Oh, you know, karma's finally got me."

"Shut up. How do you feel?"

"A whole lot better now that you're here."

There was silence between them. England is still trying to figure out if he can save his life, if he can use witchcraft to spare him more years.

"Don't think about adding years to my life, Angleterre," France said as if reading his mind, "we both know it's not going to be permanent."

"Don't say that. Of course it'll work! I just have to figure out…"

"I'll be gone once you've figured it out. And besides, I could die now that you're here."

"SHUT UP! Why do you always say things that I never, EVER want to hear? You're so irritating!"

"Because they're true, non? The truth hurts. We have to learn to accept them."

England held France's hands like delicate lilies, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I don't want you to leave. I need you, Francis. I really do."

France's eyes are blinded with tears, "I'm sorry too. I don't want to go…just as much as everyone dear to me don't want to. Did you know that Italy came here looking as vulnerable as he is? I want to be there when he needs helps. Did you know Canada came not knowing who he truly is? I want to be there to encourage him, to build his self-esteem. Did you know that America…oh that man…did you know he's actually a truly caring man? I want to be there to guide him every step he makes. I want to be there for everyone. But I can't."

"Silly. All of us love you, if you haven't gotten the memo yet. I…I…love you…"

"Je t'aime, mon amour."

England lay besides France that night but when he woke up the next day, he noticed that he's gone and a single rose replaced where he used to lie. And a note—a note handwritten by France was left for him to read.

"Arthur,

Sorry for leaving all so suddenly. I'm probably dead by now. Well, I left to find a cure. I still want to keep fighting. For everybody. For you. Don't look for me. Nobody should look for me. I don't know if I'm ever coming. Be happy. You know…just remember that in the winter…everything is dead and a single seed of a rose remain untouched, seemingly dead. But with the sun's love, with the spring's loving touch, the seed becomes a rose. I'll see you soon, my love…


End file.
